


but we gamble with desire

by nightbloods



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Spoilers, episode tags, maybe some fluff down the line, starting with 2.12
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-17 13:49:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3531617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbloods/pseuds/nightbloods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of missing huntingbird scenes in 2b.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2.12

**Author's Note:**

> i'm going to try to do at least one of these for each episode. this little nugget was stuck in my head as soon as lance hit the wall, and i had to get it out. it's how i'm dealing with my emotions.

Vintak goes limp beneath her hold, and Bobbi is on her feet in record time. Fitz shoots her a wide-eyed look but keeps the weapon pointed at him, even if his eyes are following her across the room.

Her eyes fall on Lance, unconscious against the wall where he landed. Skidding to a stop in front of him and dropping to her knees, Bobbi feels that familiar ache in her chest. This isn't the first time he's thrown himself headfirst into danger in order to protect her; that instinct to protect her come hell or high water is part of what makes them so successful- particularly in the field.

Be that as it may, it's the most stressful habit he could've gotten into, because while it gives her those precious extra moments in the middle of the action, when the dust settles and he's limp in a corner, she's terrified in a way that her training never prepared her for.

(It doesn't get any easier, no matter how many times it happens. Facing the possibility that one day he might not get up again will _never_ be _easy_.)

Kneeling in front of him, with half an eye on Fitz and the dazed Kree warrior, Bobbi raises a hand to Lance's cheek and lets her fingers trail down to find his pulse point. That familiar spot under his jaw that's  guaranteed to draw a reaction from him when she kisses it just right; the same spot that her shaky, adrenaline-charged fingers have searched for far too many times. He's breathing- that was the first thing she looked for as soon as her eyes locked on him from across the room, but old habits die hard and she searches for his pulse anyways. She needs to feel it, indisputable proof that today isn't the day she loses him.

She's watching the rise and fall of his chest when her fingertips find the strong beat there.

Relief crashes down onto her and knocks her back onto her heels despite it all. Her hand drifts down his arm to wrap around his wrist, settling over the gentle thrumming she finds there. Eyes closed, Bobbi takes a few seconds to just _listen_ to his breathing. Fitz is shuffling around several yards away and Mack is stirring against the opposite wall, but with a finger still against Lance's pulse and all her attention focused on the sound of his breathing, a little of the tension in her chest loosens.

(Maybe the hardest part of pushing Lance away again will be readjusting to falling asleep without the lullaby of his heartbeat. It's always been like that, though. Nights have always been too quiet, too empty without him.)

Mack's voice swirls around in her head, warnings and reminders of everything she's keeping- the potential it holds to rip away the foundation they've carefully cultivated here. _You're protecting him_ , she thinks for the millionth time.

It's not that she can't walk away from him, god knows she has before, but the world is crumbling for people like them. She's lost count of how many times she's found her footing only to have her the rug torn from under her again, just in these past few months. This thing- this _life_ \- she's building with Lance, it's all she has to hold onto. Maybe in some morbid way, it took everything falling apart around them to finally give them the push they needed to make it work.

They lost everything, but they managed to find each other in the scrambled aftermath. Only of course it's not that simple. Everything she's keeping from him sits like a rock on her chest and _god_ , she wants to tell him. Lying to him was never supposed to be this hard, he was never supposed to get this close again; crawl back under her skin, blow past all her walls like it's the easiest thing he's ever done. He was never supposed to send her tumbling back down that all too familiar rabbit hole all over again.

He damned well wasn't supposed to take a permanent job for her, to fight so fucking hard for _them._

Bobbi is still holding his hand, her fingers coasting over his wrist in time with his heartbeat, when he starts to shift. His fingers curl around hers and he lets out a quiet groan, rolling his head to the side and grimacing before he even opens his eyes. Mack's voice sounds in her head again, and Bobbi knows she needs to go- get up, get away from Lance before he wakes because then she won't be able to stop herself from spilling it all, not after she turned him away and he _still_ protected her without a second's hesitation.

She squeezes his hand and slips her fingers from his grasp, stands and makes her way back to the lab where Fitz is on the phone with Coulson, assuring him that Vintak is subdued.

Listening to Lance shuffle to his feet several yards away, another voice mixes with the warnings and doubts in her head.

_I'll have your back, no matter what._

The weight that lessens around him crashes back down, and it nearly cripples her. 


	2. 2.13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't what will happen in the show. but i needed to write it.
> 
> i swear i'll write one from lance's pov soon.

_"I know that we are treading lightly on the edge of things;  
and I want you to know that in spite of it all,  
I have loved you fiercely."  
_ Trista Mateer, _It's So Close Now_

 

She skips debriefing. A few people fight for her attention, men in suits and women with tight ponytails calling out _Agent Morse!_ as she hurries past. Someone shoves a file into her arms, but she brushes it off. There's plenty for her to tell- her superiors will doubtlessly want to know about Skye, what happened in the field, where Cal has vanished to, what will become of his ragtag gang of gifteds, a million other questions she barely has answers for- but the debrief can wait.

There's something- _someone­_ \- more important waiting behind a door at the end of the hall, and it's about damn time she talked to him.

Fourth on the left at the end of the corridor, there's a door with no name plate on it; its resident is new, and likely temporary. Bobbi doesn't hesitate when she stands in front of it- doesn't stop to consider the what if's and maybe's of what she'll find on the other side; she doesn't let herself pause and consider that she's probably the last person he wants to see right now. If she stops, she'll lose her nerve.

She's made a career of running towards the gunshots and into the fire, but _this_? This is terrifying.

Lance is slumped on the concrete floor against the foot of the bed, eyes locked straight ahead on the empty wall. The door hinges squeal as she steps in, alerting him of her presence but he only flinches subtly at the sound, jaw tightening and gaze resolutely trained anywhere but on her. The heels of Bobbi's boots click over the space between them and she lowers herself down beside him.

She needs him close. She needs to feel him, warm and solid under her fingertips, but Bobbi has lost the privilege of easy, careless touches. Her arm brushes his and Lance shuffles to the side like it burns. She doesn't try to mask how much it hurts, he's not looking at her anyways.

The room is too quiet; the air vents hum and, if she tries, Bobbi can make out people shuffling around in the hallways, muffled voices that carry through the walls. She doesn't say anything, and neither does Lance. He's still close enough that she can hear him breathing- strained and a little too harsh, like it is when he tries too hard to to keep it steady.

It's a familiar sound; countless nights she's spent lying next to him in bed, listening to him struggle to stay calm when the buzz from the beer fades and the darkness gets to be just that bit too much for him. Bobbi sees right through his calm facade, he's breaking under the veneer and there's nothing she can do to help him. Not when she allowed this to happen.

"Did you know?" Lance mumbles, breaking Bobbi out of her reverie. She almost missed the quiet words, the tone that's angry and bitter and maybe even a little hopeful that she didn't give the okay on what they did to him.

 _No, of course not_ is sitting on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it. He deserves more than to have another lie thrown in his face. It's damn time she starts telling him the truth- the _whole_ truth.

Bobbi lets out a slow breath. "Yeah," she says slowly, and resists the urge to steel herself against the shame that floods in. She's done covering up with him. "It wasn't my idea, but yes, I knew."

Lance lets out a bitter noise that's a lot like a scoff and his hands come up to scrub over his face. He gives a mirthless laugh and it hits her squarely in the chest, worse than any blow she's taken in the field.

Lance still doesn't look at her. His eyes stay trained straight ahead and if he keeps looking away then maybe Bobbi can pretend the warm eyes she fell in love with are still the ones she's deserving of.

His sleeve shifts when his head settles in his hands and red, inflamed skin peeks out around his wrist. Bobbi doesn't miss the careful way he holds it- gingerly, like moving it hurts. Two days he was there, in their safehouse, chained to a wall because they didn't know what else to do with him. Caged in a room like a mistreated animal; locked up like a criminal.

Instinctually, Bobbi raises her hand to run her fingertips over the torn and irritated skin. Lance doesn't stop her. She brushes over the rough areas where his chafed skin catches on hers, where the dark bruises blossom out from behind the reds and pinks like a shitty watercolor painting.

She could've told him in the beginning and avoided all of this. If she'd come out with it when she had the chance, maybe things wouldn't have come to this. He could be by her side, working with her. They could finally be wholly on the same team.

 _Could've, should've, would've._ It doesn't do them a damn bit of good now.

Her mouth works faster than her brain and his name tumbles off her lips, quiet and broken, tripping over everything that's fighting to be said. Lance's eyes cut to hers, softer than Bobbi expected but emptier than she'd seen them in a long time.

 _I'm sorry_ catches on the lump in her throat and dies on her tongue. It's not enough; it'll never be enough. 


	3. 2.15 (spec)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've seen mr. and mrs. smith too many times. and then adrianne mentioned it in an interview, and i took it as permission to run wild. 
> 
> more of a spec-fic than a tag.

The press of the cold barrel to her temple alerts her before metal-on-metal click of a bullet sliding into the chamber, and that in itself is enough to clue Bobbi in on who is on the other side of the gun.

Of course Lance would wait to ready his weapon. Of course he would stroll in with an empty chamber; of course he would wait to be up close before he made himself known. He could've taken her out half a dozen times already, Bobbi knows that. She's good, one of the best, but so is he.

A cold, bitter laugh bubbles up in her chest and she bites it back; she should've known she couldn't avoid this.

"You're gonna want to drop that, Bob." He says, voice icy and hard. Metal digs against her skin as the nickname scratches and claws it's way out of his mouth, through gritted teeth and carefully controlled breaths.

Bobbi holds up her arms, turning the pistol in her right hand for him to see. The barrel at her head falters barely a half an inch and she takes the opportunity; it takes around three seconds and a few twists and jabs before Lance is three steps away and her gun is trained on him, too. 

He's just another threat, just another faceless agent standing between her and her mission.

Except, if he was, she would have pulled the trigger by now.

"Didn't think it'd be that easy, did you Hunter?" Bobbi smirks and tosses tangled curls over her shoulder. It's not the first time she's been on the wrong end of gun; it's not the first time she's been on the wrong end of his gun. Lance quirks an eyebrow, but his eyes stay steeled. It's been a long time since that look was for her.

"Of course not. You always were one of the best, after all." He says bitterly but keeps his voice as controlled and steady as his hands are.

She watches him, expecting to see him wearing the same panic bouncing that's around inside her, but he's more calm than she's ever seen him. Maybe he picked up a few tricks from her, after all.

Bobbi is the first to cave, and under different circumstances Lance would probably joke that he needs to write down the date. _This is one for the books_ , he'd say, with that dumb half-smile and those stupid, shining eyes. The thought leaves an ache echoing around in her chest. God knows, after all this, that side of him may be the last thing she deserves to see again.

She's tired, exhausted, and it's enough to make her falter just a little. The gun shifts in her palm and her eyes slip closed for a split second longer than necessary.

Lance stiffens, she can feel the air shift around him; her inherent sense of him hasn't faded with time or distance, like a bad habit that keeps coming back around just when you think you've kicked it. Her eyes slide open, and there's a war raging in his. He could've taken the shot, she gave him the opportunity.

She gave him a way out; took the upper hand and let him have it. Mack's voice echoes in her head like a damn thunderstorm, _I still think he might kill you_.

"Put down the gun, Bobbi. Don't make this harder than it has to be." Lance is still gritting his teeth, so the words come out a little bit muffled and someone without her skills and experience wouldn't have noticed the hidden tremble to his voice.

Bobbi lets out a shaky breath and looks up, either trusting that he won't pull the trigger or hoping somewhere deep down that he might. There's no point putting up a front; the mask never worked with him, not when he knew exactly how to take it off.

"I didn't- I never wanted this, Lance." She can feel her face get hot, and her eyes burn with tears that will not make themselves seen. Her head spins with everything; his proximity, the familiar weight of the weapon in her hand, the carefully crafted control she's always clung to that's crumbling too quickly to rebuild.

"You were a mistake," she whispers, and regrets it as soon as it flies past her lips.

Hurt flickers through Lance's eyes, almost too quick to catch, before his expression settles into something akin to disbelief. He scoffs, almost rolling his goddamn eyes at her.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Bobbi is quicker to the draw.

"No, I don't mean- I never meant for _you_ to happen, Hunter." Her voice catches on his name as it trips off her tongue and falls between them with everything else that's not enough.

"Believe me, Bob, I sure as hell never meant to fall for you either." He throws back bitterly, tone slipping into a dangerous timbre. He's angry, and he's using that to cover up everything else roaring in his head.

 _Just like you taught him_ , Bobbi thinks.

Every late night spent fighting, every doubt and lie and insecurity, every time yelling and glass smashing turned into moaning against a wall in whatever apartment they crashed in, it's all hanging around them like a fog.

She steps forward, and Lance stands his ground; stubborn as always. His eyes are on fire, wide and lit up like a fucking wildfire.

"Do it, Hunter. If you're going to shoot me, just _do it_." Bobbi says, voice just loud enough for the two of them. She lowers her gun, letting her arm hang limply at her side but her eyes never leave his.

Lance takes a breath, and another. His finger curls and brushes over the trigger just barely, and he's wearing every bit of his internal conflict in his eyes. Someone else might not see it, but he's an open book to her, he always has been.

He squeezes the trigger a fraction of a milimeter and Bobbi closes her eyes, ready to take the bullet even if it doesn't mean his forgiveness. She waits, but instead of a gunshot, the only sound echoing around the room is of his gun disengaging and the bullet clattering to the floor.

Bobbi's eyes fly open and he shakes his head. "I can't do it, Bob. You know that damn well."

Something softer flickers in his eyes; something more recognizable of the man she woke up beside every morning for the happiest months of her life, the man that let her back in every damn time one of them ran off and then showed back up at the other's door.

Her shoulders relax as relief thunders through her and it's all Bobbi can do to stop the tears from spilling over. Lance gives her a tiny smile, and the tensions bleeds out of him, too.

One step towards him and she hears it, the noise down the hallway, the calm voice in her comm telling her there's a team on their way to her.

Panicked eyes fly to Lance and she locks her gaze with his. "I'm so sorry," She says before firing off a shot to his leg (she has every opportunity to take a different shot, on that her bosses have been telling her for weeks she'll need to be prepared to, but she can't).

The force of the bullet knocks him backwards as his legs give out underneath him, and Bobbi hurriedly props him against a stack of crates in the corner.

"Stay here," she more begs than says, regretting taking a glance at the betrayed look he's pinning her with. "Please, Lance. Just stay here."

Lance hisses as he tries to move his leg and scoffs at her, "Doesn't look like I'm going anywhere, love." He says, but his eyes stay locked on anywhere but her.

Bobbi strips off her jacket and sloppily wraps it around the bulletwound, picking up his pistol from the floor and pressing it into his palm. She has to be quick, or they'll know something is wrong. Against her better judgement, she wraps her fingers around his wrist and squeezes lightly.

"I'm sorry," she says again, and doesn't blame him when he still doesn't look at her.

She turns and walks away because she has to, because if her superiors find her with him when they know she could've taken him out, they'll kill him on the spot.

Once she's rounded the corner, Bobbi slips her phone out of her pocket. She dials a number, the emergency one they gave her weeks ago when she came to the Playground. Coulson answers, just like he promised he would.

"Get a medic to the northwest corner," she says before he can ask any questions. "It's Hunter."


End file.
